Basic Science
by Indiana Beach Bum
Summary: Kyle always has an excuse for everything he does. Why can't he ever let Stan win? ONESHOT


This idea came to me...randomly. I've got a few people to thank though. BrovlovskiFan, you unconciously inspired me to work on my dialogue. You also...because of your most recent chapter (9) and all its sexual tension, I wanted to create a highly intensified situation out of normal, everyday life. Of course, I have to thank my number 1 sandwich lover for his idea on how to further this :)

And a big thanks goes out to all of my reviewers who put up with my super-angsty peices of work. This is a little lighter, and my try at somewhat comedy. No worries, I WILL continue Fighting The Truth...but all of that anxiety and craziness was bringing me down. This is to balance it all out :) If you review, I'll give you an invisible prize!

**Basic Science**

They sat in front of the television, mercilessly pounding on the little green and red buttons of their controllers. Stan had a somewhat rhythmic bob going on with his head as his counterpart, and temporary enemy, Kyle, sat with his tongue so skillfully poised out of his mouth. Both were prepared for battle. Both were masterfully learning the techniques it took to become the reigning Mortal Kombat champion.

Both were taking out their frustrations on the innocent game controller.

"Take that, bitch!" Kyle roared, rocking to the right, so that his left butt cheek had completely lifted from the ground. He fell back onto it with a solid THUD, oblivious to the fact he had totally invaded Stan's personal space.

Stan, on the other hand, COMPLETELY aware of Kyle's intrusion, pushed the offending Jew off his keister, knocking him (and his on-screen opponent) out of the round. He let out a crazy roar of victory, dropping his controller and rising to his knees. His arms rose in the air high, and his balled fists shook with glee. "AHAHAHA!" he bellowed. "I FINALLY BEAT YOU!" His laughter was filled with madness as he stared at his furious companion.

Kyle narrowed his eyes into little slivers, glaring accusingly at Stan. Having not moved a muscle, he mumbled, "I want a rematch." He gradually pulled himself back into the sitting position, and resumed playing stance once again.

"You never let me win," Stan whined. "Just let me have it, this once!" He pressed his palms together in a pleading fashion and shot Kyle a sympathetic look.

Kyle's eyes darted back and forth from the T.V. screen to Stan. "Fine. Next round, you're MINE." He allowed his eyes to sink into Stan's own as he said those deliberate words.

Stan looked back, his eyes glued to Kyle's devious grin. "Fine."

Kyle softened his look and turned his head toward the T.V., as if that were the cue for Stan to continue playing. And so the boys continued onwards, playing their mighty video game.

Time went on, and minutes turned into hours. Hours turned in to multiple hours, and the light from the natural sunlight had long since passed. Kyle was getting antsy as he squirmed restlessly in the exact same position he had been in for the entire afternoon/evening. "My butt hurts," he announced.

"You want a prize?"

Kyle sneered as he rearranged his location on the floor. He scooted ever so slightly closer to Stan, unbeknownst to the daft boy. "I'm tired of playing games."

Stan sighed, turning to face his Jewish friend. "So am I."

"So you're ready to give in, then?"

Stan smirked. "Not a chance."

Without warning, Kyle reached over Stan's lap and yanked his controller right out his hands, placing it on Kyle's backside. "Too bad." He looked at Stan, as if he was waiting for Stan to decode what he really meant. Perhaps he meant nothing, but he couldn't help but feel there was something he was holding back.

He just didn't know what.

Stan feigned a hurt look and outstretched his arm to retrieve the stolen controller. "Kyle, quit being such a tease."

Kyle smiled. He felt around behind him, shoving the controller deep within the confines of underneath the couch. Stan poked and prodded around him, his face nearly inches away from the suddenly blushing redhead. "Where is it?" he asked, obviously distracted. His eyes never left the emerald gaze in front of him.

"Not important. I have to get off," Kyle said, pushing Stan off of him.

"YOU WHAT?" Stan asked, abruptly sitting back in astonishment.

"I have to get up!" Kyle repeated, slower this time. "My legs are numb."

Stan rubbed his eyes with his fingertips and stared at his now standing friend. He shook the previous thought out of his head and followed Kyle around the house like a trained little puppy. Every once in a while, Kyle would stop, turn around, and look to Stan for an explanation, only to find him standing devastatingly close. "You okay, dude?"

"I'm fine."

"You're squishing my toes."

"Oh, am I? Sorry, dude." Stan immediately took a step back, knocking his fists to his sides. He, too, felt that he was holding something back.

Kyle eyed him suspiciously, took two reluctant steps backwards, and then turned around and walked forward again. He slowed his pace as he reached the kitchen. Swiveling around, he faced Stan once more. "You hungry?"

"Meh, I could eat."

Kyle nodded in understanding. He traveled into the kitchen where he opened the refrigerator, taking out all of the necessary ingredients for a sandwich. He placed them all in a nice, neat row on the countertop and stared blankly at Stan. "Dig in." He pointed to the countertop. "We've got white or wheat bread, ham or turkey, provolone or cheddar, lettuce, tomatoes, mayonnaise, the works. Your choice."

"So I can have anything?"

"Anything you want."

Stan paused in thought, emitting a long "Hmmmmm…" His eyes bore a hole through Kyle's as he pondered what to do next. And for a moment, he felt himself stop blinking. Kyle, too, had stopped all functions. Finally, Stan shook his head and placed a firm hand on the counter. "What I want," he repeated over and over. He picked up a slice of the white bread and heard a small sigh escape Kyle's lips. Stan paused what he was doing and drew his attention back to Kyle's green stare. "Yes?"

Kyle fidgeted while leaning over Stan on the counter. "No, its nothing."

Stan's shoulder's fell. "What, Kyle." He knew that sigh, and it meant that Kyle had something to say.

"Well…it's just that…wheat bread is so much _healthier_ for you, Stan. White bread is so full of starch and it has a high glycaemic index, which raises your blood sugar. It also has less fiber than…" his volume faded as Stan's eyebrows raised.

"Why did you even get the white bread out, then?" Stan asked, exasperated.

"To give you the choice!"

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Well obviously I'm going with the wheat now."

Kyle smiled and started wrapping up the white bread once again. "Good choice."

Stan shook his head and muttered a "whatever" before continuing on with his sandwich. He saw Kyle out of the corner of his eye, monitoring him. He felt the need to ask, "Is this okay?" after each step in the process of his sandwich building. Kyle frowned once more as Stan spread the mayonnaise on only one side of his almost completed feast.

"If you spread it on both sides, you'll have an even flavor throughout."

Stan threw his head back, closed his eyes, and lifted his head once again. "Why does it even matter?"

Kyle drew an invisible circle with his index finger on the counter. "It…doesn't. I'm just saying, if you want an overall favorable sandwich, you can spread the condiments on both sides and you will never have a dry area that wasn't touched." He opened his mouth to continue, but saw Stan's annoyed stare and stopped.

"You never let me win," Stan mumbled. "Its always gotta be done _your_ way."

"Nu-uh," Kyle protested weakly.

Stan jammed the knife back into the mayonnaise jar and smothered the other side with an equal amount. Kyle soon followed suit, making his own sandwich to a T. They ate in silence, watching each other's movements across the table. At one point, they both ceased to chew their respective bites as they engaged in a minute-long staring contest.

Kyle could feel the tension just filling the air. He ignored it as he washed down the remaining bits of his dinner with a tall glass of milk. He nervously toyed with the edge of the tablecloth, waiting for his counterpart to finish his meal. He took a big gulp—one that noisily echoed throughout his mouth. It seemed as though a daze had fallen over the two boys. Kyle, unable to break free, decided it best to just exit the scene. He stood up, gathered his plate, and dumped them into the sink. Stan copied his actions.

"What do you wanna do now?" Stan asked as he followed Kyle out of the room.

Stan pursued him all the way to the first step of the stairs. Kyle couldn't explain what was happening, but in the midst of this unpredictable possession, he turned to announce, "I'm gonna go take a shower."

"O…. uh…okay," Stan replied, clear blue eyes facing forward.

"Kay…" Kyle said slowly, spinning back around on his heels and trudging up the stairs. Stan soon followed.

The sudden submissive actions of Stan should have alarmed Kyle, but he allowed Stan to trail him close behind. Stan followed him into the bathroom, where Kyle decided Stan was still in his own daze. He would snap out of it soon.

"Dude, you're squishing my toes again."

Stan blinked once, pausing all movements before picking his left foot up and stepping backwards.

"Stan, what the hell's wrong with you?" Kyle asked.

The raven-haired boy shrugged. "I'm drawn to you?"

Kyle snickered, pushing Stan back into the wall. "You're freaking me out."

"I'm tired of playing games," Stan said in response.

Kyle breathed loudly. All of his confusion—that feeling of holding something back—was standing right in front of him. In the form of a seventeen year old boy. His best friend. It made sense. But he couldn't fit the pieces together correctly in his head. "Kay…" was his intellectual retort.

Stan came at him full force, knocking them both over the bathtub railing, under the shower curtain, and into the tub. In the midst of the attack, Kyle had shielded himself from harm by bringing his arms out in front of him, which were now sandwiched between he and the boy lying so gracefully on top of his folded body. Stan lifted his head, blinking the momentary confusion away. He searched for Kyle's face, finding it only inches away. "Hi."

Kyle paused all motion to look back into Stan's eyes. "Hi." After what seemed like hours of no talking or no moving, he added, "Mind if we get up? I can't breathe."

Stan's eyes sprang to attention. "Oh! Dude, sorry!" He peeled himself off of the uncomfortable boy and extended a helpful hand. Kyle wriggled himself out of the awkwardly cramped position and stood up. He dusted his backside off and smoothed the wrinkles in his shirt, looking around the room. His gaze settled upon the anticipating pair of eyes in front of him. He was unsure of how to speak, or what to do next. He felt a swelling in his pants down below. Upon realization of what was going on, he briefly glanced at his crotch, before shifting his eyes back to Stan.

"So you've got a thing for me?" Kyle asked, trying to hide his most recent discovery.

Stan's blue eyes twinkled. "Looks like it."

Kyle nodded thoughtfully. "And I-"

"Have a thing for me too," Stan said, gesturing to the evidence proving him right.

Kyle could feel his face reddening. "It's the physical contact of you…you know…pushing me against the tub and the friction that occurred, its quite basic science really. If you factor in the-"

Stan shook his head and grinned. "Oh, so this is a scientific reaction?"

Kyle stuttered. "Pr…precisely." The air had grown increasingly warm and his T-shirt increasingly tight.

"And it has nothing to do with me," Stan asked, playing along with Kyle's pathetic cover-up story.

"Nothing whatsoever," Kyle said overly proudly. Even as he said so, he was backing away from Stan's advances. He stopped.

He had hit a wall.

"Kyle, Kyle, Kyle," Stan said, shaking his head once again. "When will you _ever_ let me win?"

"I'm just explaining pure fact, Stan-" Kyle's hands began to shake as Stan brushed his body up against his own.

Stan brought his lips dangerously close to Kyle's, breathing deeply. "And I'm calling your bluff," he quietly whispered before pressing his lips into the quivering boy in front of him. He drew his arms upwards, placing his palms onto Kyle's soft, flushed cheeks. He held steady as the redhead sank slowly into the kiss, his lips melting into the mold of his counterpart. He, too, brought his own trembling hands up to Stan's, grasping them, and bringing them down from his face. He opened his mouth slightly, emitting just enough space for Stan to slip his bottom lip in as he gently sucked Kyle's upper lip. Stan brought his lips away briefly, gauging Kyle's reaction. Kyle's shudders had dissolved into a completely relaxed state. Stan was literally the only thing keeping Kyle from collapsing. He closed the gap between them once more, slipping his tongue into Stan's welcoming mouth.

Kyle wrapped his arms around Stan's thick neck, further releasing full dependency on the slightly taller boy. Stan bent down to deepen their kiss, pausing only briefly to gain a sturdier stance as he loomed over his victory. His hands fell naturally around Kyle's waist, and he pushed his own hips inwards to meet Kyle's. He felt their "scientific reactions" more prominently than ever. The thought of it made him smile as Kyle continued to nurse his lips.

Quite a few minutes passed, and Stan eventually pulled away, gasping for air. He leaned his forehead against Kyle's, looking into Kyle's green eyes as much as he could without going cross-eyed. His vision was blurry, and the bathroom had no doubt grown humid due to their steamy experiment.

Kyle rested his head against the wall, continuing to embrace Stan's shoulders and curiously stroking the nape of his neck. "Whoa, dude," he at last spoke.

Stan beamed. "_Told_ ya you were bluffing."

Kyle smiled, equally brightly, shrugging his shoulders. "Maybe…"

"You'll see. It's much better when you let me win, Kyle," Stan replied as he brought his hand up to stroke Kyle's cheek.

Kyle paused at the thought. He grinned mischievously. "Fine. But next round, you're MINE."


End file.
